


went outside and saw the moon (and it made me think of you).

by redhoods



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He texts Scott, <i>it’s a full moon</i>, as if he doesn’t already know.</p>
<p>A few minutes later a response comes through, <i>Yeah</i>, then a few seconds later, <i>wish you were here</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	went outside and saw the moon (and it made me think of you).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treesfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesfall/gifts).



> this is for amanda because it was her birthday.
> 
> i wrote it before 3b ended so allison is alive and mentioned in it. 
> 
> and this started off with some better plot or whatever, but sex happened so.

The night Stiles leaves has a waning crescent moon and Scott helps him load the last box into his jeep. “It’s not going to be the same without you here,” he says, leaning against the jeep, head tipped back to look at the sky.

Stiles shuffles and nods, standing next to Scott and brushing their shoulders, “I know, buddy, not going to be the same without you around either.”

“It’s only four years, though, yeah?”

“Only four, then I’ll be back to save your sorry werewolf ass.”

Scott laughs and they both pretend that it’s going to be okay with the entire country between them.

\--

Harvard campus is huge, impressive and oppressive at the same time. It’s stifling and liberating in equal turns and Stiles is glad that Lydia’s at least at MIT, so he has some sort of escape.

By some ridiculous twist of fate, (and, honestly, Stiles doesn’t remember ever having pissed in her cornflakes), he’s got Jackson as a dorm mate. The werewolf has mellowed during his time in London though and spends most of time pestering Stiles in their room and also working with him on course work.

It’s mind reeling at first, but they settle into a nice routine. And Stiles would almost consider them friends.

He also considers it an added benefit that Jackson already knows about werewolves and everything else that went on in Beacon Hills.

(It took three hours and infinite amounts of patience on his and Lydia’s parts.)

The first full moon of the semester, Jackson goes to run with the local pack and Stiles leans against their window and looks out.

He texts Scott, _it’s a full moon_ , as if he doesn’t already know.

A few minutes later a response comes through, _Yeah_ , then a few seconds later, _wish you were here_.

Jackson gets back early in the morning and doesn’t even bother the last few feet to his own bed.

Stiles wakes up with an arm over his chest and a werewolf snuffling in his ear.

He’s strangely unbothered by it.

\--

“I don’t understand why I had to come,” Jackson mutters into his glass and Stiles snorts softly. Jackson’s been pouting into the glass ever since Lydia and Stiles dragged him into the bar. The moon is casting a strange glow across the tables, accented by the strands of lights that are strung up in the awning rafters.

It’s a little chilly outside, but Stiles enjoys it.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him and Stiles hears the clack of her heel against Jackson’s chair, “Keep pouting and I won’t show you what I’ve learned.”

Jackson’s eyes narrow at her, “Why would I want to see anything you learned at overachiever school?”

“Stop being petulant, it’s a gift for you, jack ass,” Stiles interjects, taking a drink from his glass, raising a calculated eyebrow at Jackson.

Lydia is rustling around in her purse and huffs, “It’s not a gift, more like an experiment.”

“Am I being your guinea pig?”

Scoffing, she slides a jar full of clear liquid across the table to him, “Don’t sound so put off, Jackson, this experiment will only benefit you,” she tells him as he eyes the glass like it’s the molotov cocktail they made in sophomore year.

“Just open the damn jar, Jacks,” Stiles finally bursts out after Jackson has been eyeing the jar cautiously for over five minutes.

Jackson glares at him but there’s no heat as he drags the jar to himself and twists the lid off. He sniffs it and Stiles swallows back about seven different dog jokes in favor of leaning forward to watch Jackson take a drink of it.

\--

“Waxing gibbous,” Jackson says towards the moon. His cheeks are flushed and he’s swaying a bit, before he sags against Stiles’s side, cheek pressed to Stiles’s shoulder.

“It’s good that you know your moon phases, wolf boy,” Stiles says patronizingly, patting Jackson’s shoulder as he manhandles him up the stairs into the dorm building.

Jackson growls, low in his throat and it makes his chest rumble, but Stiles isn’t even a bit afraid of him, especially when he can’t stand up without swaying. They only get a few weird looks, mostly when Jackson finally slumps against Stiles as he’s working the key into their lock.

Stiles huffs as he nudges the door open with his foot and hauls Jackson in, “Lydia needs to ease up on the alcohol next time,” he mutters more to himself as he dumps Jackson on one of the beds.

_Lydia got Jackson drunk_ , he texts Scott, _he’s a lightweight_. 

He’s not sure if he expects a response, it’s only eleven in California, but Scott’s been working full time now.

Jackson snuffles into the pillow and Stiles hopes he doesn’t drool on it.

_We need the recipe for that_ , Scott replies after a few minutes, _Derek could use some loosening up_.

Stiles barks out a laugh and face plants into Jackson’s bed.

\--

During the new moon, Jackson is sedate and quiet, working on a paper at the desk. Stiles pushes the window open and lets the breeze drift in, “You want to order pizza?”

Jackson’s fingers stop typing for a few seconds, humming low in his throat, “As long as we can get black olives on it,” he says eventually and goes back to typing.

Stiles nods and pulls his laptop to him to put the order in. He waits for the order to go through before opening up Netflix and trolling for something to watch.

Someone knocks on the door and Jackson doesn’t even stir so Stiles pushes himself off his bed and goes to the door, grabbing some cash out of their pizza jar. Once the guy is gone, Stiles goes over to the desk and gently nudges Jackson’s chair, waving the box at him.

He waits until Jackson has saved before he closes his laptop lid and pushes it back to set the box on the table, “Come on, take a break, watch Skyfall with me.”

Jackson sighs like he’s been inconvenienced but rustles up some napkins and grabs the box, leading the way over to Stiles’s bed. They settle on the bed, shoulders pressed together and laptop balanced on their thighs.

It’s not even an hour into the movie when Jackson falls asleep and Stiles leaves him to it, tugging his phone out to take a Snapchat and sends it to Scott, _werewolf stamina my ass_. 

A few minutes later, he gets a response from Scott, it’s a picture out Scott’s bedroom window, the dark sky allowing a reflection in the surface of the glass, Scott’s features hazy and distorted, _should i be worried that i’m losing my bff?_

Stiles stifles a laugh and takes a picture of his own disbelieving face, _like i’d leave you for mr grumpy gills_.

_good_ , he gets moments later, over a picture of Scott smiling goofily.

\--

Stiles is in his Fairy Tale, Myth, and Fantasy Literature class when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and finds a text from his dad, _Scott just brought me a turkey burger. I blame you_.

He laughs quietly, ignoring the girl in front of him who turns to glare, as he types out a response, _I’ll have to give him an extra big thanks when I get home_.

When he gets out of his last class at eight, the moon is in third quarter and he calls Scott on his walk back to the dorm, “My dad texted me while I was in my fantasy lit class, good on you, buddy,” he says as a greeting.

Scott laughs down the line and Stiles wishes he were there to see the way his face lit up with it. He misses his best friend. “I took lunch to my mom, so I figured I could hit up your dad while I was at it.”

“Well, it’s much obliged and I owe you big time,” he replies, shuffling his books to tug his keys out of his pocket, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, “Jackson’s making a fuss about joining the row crew,” he says after a few seconds of silence, kicking the dorm door shut behind him, making a bitch face right back at Jackson, “He seems to forget that not all of us have werewolf abilities.”

There’s shuffling over the line and a dog barking, “I heard that it takes a lot of practice.”

“You only know that from watching The Skulls and The Social Network,” Stiles accuses and throws a pillow at Jackson’s smug face as he settles on his own bed, spreading his books out so he can put a dent in some of his work.

Scott huffs, “I’m just saying, maybe it’d be a good thing,” he starts, “Bulk you up for when you get back here, then maybe you’d stand a chance against me.”

Jackson starts laughing and Stiles resolves to smothering him in his sleep, “I could bulk up to Derek’s size and it wouldn’t do me a bit of good, you guys would still be able to throw me around,” he replies.

“Can’t you go to the... what is that thing called, like the simulator?”

“The row tank? Or ergometer?” Because Stiles hasn’t been researching it or anything.

“Um...row tank?” Scott tries, “You could practice? Get a feel for it?”

Stiles heaves a sigh, “You were supposed to be helping me convince Jackson that this was a bad idea.”

There’s the sound of the bell that Stiles knows is on Deaton’s office door, “Go work, Scotty, I’ll hit you up later,” he tells him and disconnects the call, already pulling up the athletics department website to see when the tank is open, “You’re going with me,” he says forcefully, jabbing a finger in Jackson’s direction.

\--

It’s far too early to be awake, much less to be climbing into the boat for rowing practice, and thus Stiles is dozing against Jackson’s shoulder, that’s until their cox starts fussing and he groans melodramatically, straightening himself out.

When they finish, it’s only just getting light out and the moon is still visible, waning gibbous, only a few days until the full moon. Jackson is pumped up, practically bouncing as they make the trek back to the dorms, and Stiles is barely conscious. “I want a shower, a full pot of coffee, and five hours of sleep, not necessarily in that order,” he mutters into Jackson’s sweaty hoodie.

Jackson laughs and claps him on the shoulder with a little unnecessary vigour, “I’ll make a pot of coffee, try not to fall asleep in the shower,” he says and it’s so good natured that Stiles nearly trips over his own feet as they move up the stairs.

They shuffle into the dorm together and Stiles is already tugging off his clothes on his way into their en suite, perks of being juniors. He leaves a trail of them into the shower, turning the water on as hot and hard as it’ll go.

“Stilinski!” Jackson shouts from the other room, “You’re picking up these clothes!”

Stiles choses to ignore him as he steps into the spray of the water and doesn’t even consider getting out until it starts to get cold and he can smell coffee.

\--

When Stiles finally drives his jeep into Beacon Hills, Jackson is snoring in his passenger seat and the moon is waning crescent, casting eerie shadows when it filters through the tree tops. He pulls his phone out and calls Scott, “We just pulled into town,” he says once Scott answers.

“Everyone’s at my apartment,” he replies and now that Stiles listens, he can hear talking in the background, and it makes something warm settle in his chest. He hasn’t seen any of them since last summer, having stayed at school through winter and spring break.

It’s far too long and this is his last summer before he graduates. He plans on taking advantage of it.

He slides into a spot in front of Scott’s building and nudges Jackson awake. Stiles’s legs are stiff and Jackson is slowly waking up as they make their way up the stairs and they’re not even to the door when it flies open and Scott is flinging himself out into the hallway, nearly bowling Stiles over.

Jackson huffs and shoves past them, “I feel the love, McCall,” he gripes, but there’s not even an ounce of heat in it as he disappears into the apartment.

Stiles can hear everyone greeting Jackson, but he doesn’t care, presses his face into Scott’s neck, “Missed you, too, buddy,” he mutters and sucks in deep breaths of Scott’s scent, while Scott does the same to him.

It says a lot about their friendship that both of them are completely comfortable doing this in the middle of the hallway, especially when Isaac and Jackson are making gagging noises from the apartment doorway.

\--

The first full moon of the summer falls on a Friday night. It’s hot outside, but there’s a breeze that keeps rustling through the leaves on the trees and Stiles sprawls out on one of the larger rocks in the reserve, fingers brushing Allison’s arm from where she’s leaning against the rock, sitting on the ground. “I think I prefer California summer,” he says absently, “It’s too humid on the east coast.”

“It makes my hair frizzy,” Lydia says, where she’s seated in a camp chair a book open in her lap.

Allison hums softly, “I’m sure you’ve got products for that,” she teases Lydia, tensing a little when a twig snaps near them.

Isaac comes crashing out first, followed by Derek, with Jackson hot on their heels. Derek ends up crashing into Isaac, taking him down in a flurry of limbs and Jackson follows them down, tussling like a bunch of puppies.

Stiles is watching in the direction they came from, waiting for Scott to make an appearance, when a hand covers his mouth. He resists the urge to lick it, letting himself be pulled off the rock and directed into the trees, Scott’s body a line of heat against his back.

“I wanna show you something,” He says, his hand releasing Stiles’s mouth, in favor of tangling their fingers together and dragging Stiles further into the forest. Scott’s wolfed out a bit, extra hair and fangs, but his eyes are their normal brown, and he’s being extra careful with his claws.

“I feel like you’re leading me to your secret make out spot,” Stiles teases and gapes at Scott’s back when he sees the flush work its way up the back of Scott’s neck, “Scotty, are you sneaking me away to make out with me?”

Scott huffs softly, “Hush, Stiles.”

Stiles moves to catch up with him, knocking their shoulders together, “It’s okay if you are, I mean, you’re late taking me up on my offer,” he rambles, “I know I look damn good now,” he adds, gesturing to the way he’s filling out his row crew shirt. College has been good to him and he knows it.

The tips of Scott’s ears are pink. “I told you it’d do you good to join the crew,” he says, obviously avoiding the question.

“I still can’t take you on,” Stiles counters.

Scott hums as they break through the line of the trees, to where the river flows through the forest. It’s lit up by the full moon and there’s a distinctive lack of trolls from the last time Stiles was here. Scott still hasn’t let go of his hand and Stiles is decidedly okay with that as they settled on the bank of the river, “I just wanted some alone time with my best friend,” he says after a few minutes of watching the river sluggishly move by.

“I missed you too,” Stiles replies, leaning into Scott’s side.

“One more year, yeah?”

“One more year.”

\--

The first full moon of the new semester, Stiles texts Scott, _it’s a full moon_.

A few seconds later, Scott replies, _Yeah_ , then, _wish you were here_.

\--

Scott is the one who picks him up from the airport at the beginning of winter break and they spend a ridiculous amount of time just hugging at the baggage claim, before Stiles declares that he’s starving and demands to be taken home.

He lets Scott fill him in on the last few months on the ride back, his eyes focused on the moon, in the first quarter. His attention is drawn when Scott’s hand curls around his and he lolls his head in Scott’s direction, offering him an easy smile, “Missed you.”

Scott smiles at him, turning his attention back to the road, “Only five more months to go,” he replies, and pulls in behind the sheriff’s cruiser.

He hugs his dad for what might be an embarrassing amount of time if there were anyone else around to witness it except Scott, who doesn’t even say anything, just slips inside and heads for the kitchen.

“Keep that rowing up and you might give Derek Hale a run for his money,” his dad says once they pull back from the hug and Scott laughs from the kitchen.

“I feel the love, Scotty,” he shouts and follows his dad towards the kitchen to help Scott pull together something for dinner.

\--

There’s one full moon during the break and Stiles finds himself sitting at home, watching the snow fall outside. Allison is with her dad in France for the break and Lydia stayed back in Boston with Jackson for the time being, so it was either freeze his ass off alone or sit in the warmth alone.

He apparently falls asleep at some point, cause the next thing he knows, he’s being woken up by tapping on his window. It gives him high school flashbacks and he grins as he heaves the window up to let Scott in.

Scott’s cheeks are pink, wind burned and cold but the color fades before his eyes, even if Scott’s nose is cold when he presses it to Stiles’s neck.

Stiles huffs out a laugh and pats his shoulders, still letting himself be manhandled to his bed. It didn’t even really hold them back in high school and it definitely doesn’t now. They have to turn on their sides and press in close together and it should be awkward, but Stiles feels comfortable and safe, tucked into the curves of Scott’s body.

“I hate that you're so far away,” Scott mumbles, after a while of just settling in each other’s presence. Part of Stiles knows that it’s the moon talking, that Scott is feeling the absence of pack members, but he also knows that a big part of it is just Scott.

They’ve been best friends for years. Even with Stiles coming back to visit when he can, it’s still too long for them to be apart.

“Only a few months, then I’ll be all yours.”

Scott makes a strange sound against his neck, “Just mine?”

Stiles shuffles, pulling back until he can look Scott in the face, “Scott?”

There’s a pink tinge to Scott’s cheeks and he seems to be having an internal debate with himself, “It’s just,” he pauses, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s picking his words, “I don’t like it when you come back not smelling like me. It’s not right.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“It’s weird and I’m not expecting you to be _mine_ mine, but, yeah.”

“What if...” Stiles pauses, licks his lips and then swallows heavily when he notices Scott following the motion, so he does it again. It prompts a growl from somewhere deep in Scott’s chest, then he’s lurching forward, kissing Stiles.

It’s a bit aggressive and mostly teeth, so Stiles cups Scott’s cheeks, eases him back and slows the kiss down to a slick slide of tongues.

\--

Stiles graduates on a hot spring day. His dad and Lydia are in the crowd and Jackson’s in the swarm of gowns with him. And when he crosses the stage, he notices Scott, standing in the back, wearing his goofy grin.

Once the ceremony is over, he finds himself caught up in a hug with his dad, then Lydia, and then he’s practically flinging himself at Scott. They cling to each other, at least, until Jackson comes to ruin it.

They drag him into a threeway hug and hang on to him until he’s very loudly protesting.

Everyone meets up later for dinner and Stiles spends the whole night with his ankle hooked around Scott’s, feeling glad that he, Lydia, and Jackson had decided to get an off campus apartment for senior year. And his dad leaves them from the restaurant, claiming jet lag and the need to see how comfy his hotel room bed is.

Scott and Stiles walk him to the hotel room and then make their way to the apartment slowly, fingers tangled and shoulders bumping as Stiles points out various places he loves along the way.

When they get to the apartment, Scott crowds him against the door, mouthing at his neck, while Stiles tries to get the key in the lock. The door finally gives and they end up stumbling in, but there’s no one in the living room so Stiles doesn’t feel even a little bad about curling his fingers around Scott’s wrist and dragging him into his bedroom.

“Nice bed,” Scott mutters, already backing Stiles towards the queen bed he splurged on at the beginning of the year. 

Falling back to sit on the edge of the bed, Stiles works on dragging Scott’s shirt, pressing kisses up his stomach as he bares skin, “Most comfortable bed ever,” he breathes into Scott’s skin, finally dragging his shirt off and dropping it on the floor.

He raises his arms to let Scott pull his own shirt off before he slides up towards the head of the bed, crooking his finger at Scott, “C’mon, alpha, wanna see what you got.”

A rumble works its way up through Scott’s chest and his eyes flicker red briefly as he climbs up on the bed and Stiles instinctively spreads his legs so Scott could settle between them. “You’re gonna kill me,” Scott tells Stiles’s neck, worrying a mark into the skin before he’s kissing along Stiles’s chest, scraping his teeth over one of his nipples.

Stiles grins, hooking his legs around Scott’s hips, “Big bad alpha, taken down a human, what would they say?” He chokes off on a groan as Scott rocks down into the cradle of his hips.

“They’ll say that you’re an asshole who doesn’t know how to be quiet and enjoy the moment,” Scott mutters into his skin, fitting a hand between them to cup Stiles through his jeans, rubbing the heel of his hand over the bulge.

Groaning, Stiles arches up into the touch, “Fine, fine, I get the point,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in Scott’s hair and drags him into a kiss. It’s the filthiest kiss yet, slick and hot and Stiles is rutting shamelessly into Scott’s hand. He nearly whines when Scott cups a hand around his hip and holds him to the bed.

“Shh, I got you,” Scott sooths and sinks blunt human teeth into Stiles’s shoulder, while his hand not holding Stiles in place moves to undo Stiles’s jeans. His movements are efficient and Stiles feels a brief flare of jealousy that’s immediately wiped away when Scott’s hand fits in his boxers.

Briefly, Stiles digs his bitten off nails into Scott’s shoulders before trying to pull Scott up so he can work on getting Scott out of his pants, “C’mon, you needed to be naked like ten minutes ago,” he mutters, deterred for a minute when Scott’s thumb slides over the head of his dick.

Scott huffs at him and pulls away to work his jeans and boxers off his hips in one swift movement, before his gaze falls back on Stiles and he smiles, amused and fond as he watches Stiles flail his way out of his remaining clothes.

“You could’ve helped,” Stiles says, once he’s fully naked, drawing Scott to settle back between his thighs, stuttering out a moan when their dicks slide together between them, then, “This isn’t where I expected this to go when I asked you to make out in high school.”

“If you’re complaining, I can always,” Scott pulls back and gestures to the door, like he’s considering leaving. The breath is forced out of his lungs when Stiles’s legs lock around his waist and their bodies end up crushed together.

Stiles is broader than he was in high school, stronger after rowing crew, and Scott suddenly understands why girls get all hot and bothered when one of the pack starts showing off. “Guess I’m not leaving anytime soon?” He asks with a grin, rocking down against Stiles.

There’s pink high on Stiles’s cheeks and it’s starting to bleed down onto his chest, “As if I’d ever let you leave now that I’ve got you here,” he replies and cups a hand around the back of Scott’s neck and drags him into another kiss, rolling his hips up.

It feels good, so fucking good, but Stiles is impatient on the best days, much less when he’s got Scott naked and wanting in his bed, and he’s about to say something about, but Scott, beautiful, amazing Scott, says, “I’d really like you to fuck me,” and Stiles is just glad he doesn’t shoot off right at that very moment.

His brain comes back online a few minutes later, when he realizes that Scott is straddling his hips and leaning over to dig around in his side table. Stiles hums lowly, cupping his hand around Scott’s side and sliding it up, flicking his thumb over Scott’s nipple, “You just broke my brain,” then leans up to flick his tongue over the nub.

Scott’s hips stutter, his dick sliding against Stiles’s stomach before he finally settles back, rocking his ass down against Stiles’s dick, just to draw a groan out of him. He drops the bottle of lube and condom on Stiles’s chest, starting to rotate his hips in little circles, “Been thinking about this for ages,” he says, conversationally, like they’re still at dinner and not about to get it on in Stiles’s bed.

He’s clearly not doing his job well enough.

He snags the lube and flips it open, carefully dumping some on his fingers before he drops the bottle back to the bed while he warms the lube up. Above him, Scott makes a wounded sound and Stiles notices how Scott’s eyes are focused on his fingers, pupils blown wide, “Oh,” he breathes out uselessly and surges up to kiss Scott.

Clean hand pressed to Scott’s lower back, Stiles flips them and settles between Scott’s thigh, not once breaking the kiss as he traces his fingers down the length of Scott’s dick, jacking it for a few seconds before moving his hand lower, circling his finger around Scott’s rim.

“C’mon, Stiles,” Scott breaks the kiss just to urge him on, his hips working towards Stiles’s finger and his head throws back when Stiles presses his finger in slowly. Briefly, Stiles worries he might give himself whiplash, jerking around like that, but the thought is lost when Scott starts working his hips, trying to fuck himself on Stiles’s finger.

“Eager,” Stiles teases softly, pressing his lips to Scott’s chest as he presses another finger in slowly, curling and spreading them.

Scott starts making these little sounds, like hitched sobs, hips still working, and Stiles is so in love with him in kind of hurts.

It doesn’t take long before Scott’s hand is wrapping around Stiles’s wrist, forcibly pulling him up the bed, his legs clamping down tight around Stiles’s waist, “If you don’t get in me in the next minute, I’ll go finish myself off in the bathroom,” he threatens, a growl bubbling up.

Stiles is completely endeared and not a bit threatened, because Scott’s eyes are glassy, pupils blown, his lips are kiss swollen and bitten red, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink. He almost wishes he had a camera somewhere nearby.

Before he realizes it, Scott has opened the condom and is rolling it down his dick almost forcefully and Stiles huffs, batting his hand away to finish the job himself. It takes some blind searching before he finds the tube of lube and coats himself with it before tossing it away. 

The bottle goes off the edge of the bed and hits the floor with a thud that neither of them pay any mind to, because Stiles is shuffling forward and pressing in so slow that it looks like Scott’s head is going to explode.

They both shudder out a breath once Stiles is fully seated and he pants wetly against Scott’s neck, counting back from thirty. He gets to seventeen before Scott’s starting to rock his hips, “Stiles, move,” he demands and, well, Stiles can’t refuse his alpha.

Scott’s heels are digging into his ass, and it only takes a few minutes for them to get a rhythm, the bed rocking with the force of it, but thankfully there’s no headboard to smack against the wall. Stiles lifts his head and aims for a kiss, but it’s off centered and sloppy, so they end up just panting into each other’s mouth.

“Fuck, Scotty, we could’ve been doing this ages ago,” he slurs against the corner of Scott’s mouth, getting a hand between them to get ahold of Scott’s dick, jerking him off in uneven strokes, his pace offset because of his thrusts.

It doesn’t long after that, until Scott’s spine is arching up off the bed and he’s coming between them with a shout, startling Stiles’s own orgasm out of him.

He’s careful about unwrapping Scott’s legs from his waist and pulling out, rubbing his hand over Scott’s side, and Stiles lets himself be dragged into a sloppy kiss, “You okay, Scotty?” He asks, kind of teasingly, as he pulls away to throw the condom away.

Scott flaps his hand uselessly in the air, “That was awesome,” he says, sounding almost awestruck, so Stiles has to kiss him. Scooping up a dirty shirt off the floor, he tosses it at Scott so he can clean up, while working on detangling the mess of blankets at the foot of the bed.

“It was pretty awesome,” Stiles agrees, once he manages to get the blanket it free, climbing up the bed and dragging it with him.

As he curls up to Scott’s side, Stiles thinks about how long they could’ve been doing this, but wonders if they were ever in the right place for it to not be awkward. Maybe it took distance, time apart, to realize what it was they both wanted and needed. Or maybe he’s just overthinking it.

Scott’s nails start scratching over his scalp, lulling him into a sort of half conscious state and he splays his hand over Scott’s rib cage, feeling it expand with every inhale, “Missed you, Stiles.”

Stiles hums, nuzzling against Scott’s chest, “Missed you everyday, buddy.”

“It’s waxing gibbous,” Scott starts, conversationally, “You’ll be home for the next full moon.”

“And all the one’s after it, if I can help it.”

\--

Stiles isn’t the first one to the clearing, even if he tries to be, but Scott’s sitting on one of the rocks, head tipped back to look at the moon as it continues its ascent. There’s no point in sneaking really, but he’s still quiet as he crosses to the rocks and settles behind Scott, hooking his chin over Scott’s shoulder, “It’s a full moon,” he murmurs softly, not wanting to break the stillness of the night just yet.

Scott’s head tips so their cheeks are pressed together, “I’m glad you’re here.”


End file.
